dlwnsghek: (2PM | Junho wearing a hat)
king of Hoes ([personal profile] dlwnsghek) wrote2012-11-24 10:24 pm

[fic] 2PM: we've got this down

I wrote this while listening to Chester See's cover of Adele's "Set fire to the rain" on repeat for a whole day. (Ssh, sometimes I get like this, okay.) Promtp provided by [livejournal.com profile] dreamoscope; for [livejournal.com profile] walkonpluto.

We've got this down
2pm ; chansung/junho ; r
~1600 w

In which Junho is hopeless and Chansung doesn't seem to mind.


Junho is hopeless by default. No, seriously, when Chansung isn't busy making fun of Junho's eyes (or ass, or height, or pretty much anything Chansung can come up with at the moment), he's making fun of how hopeless Junho is.

But it's only half-heartedly and they both know it. Chansung is kind of hopelessly in love and Junho is hopeless, period, so they're a good match.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Junho asks as he stretches over the expanse of Chansung's bed. He says it in English and Chansung wants to laugh because even in his own poor English comprehension, he knows Junho's got the pronunciation all mixed up and horrible.

"You," he says, "have been spending too much time with Nichkhun hyung."

"Spoilsport," Junho chuckles. "Why don't you wanna tell me?"

"Well, it's not like you don't know already," Chansung half smirks half grins cheekily. No one knows how he pulls it off but he does, and he's good at it, this whole "Teasing Junho Until He's Begging For Mercy" thing.

"Please tell me, Chansung?" Junho prods, crawling and scooting closer until his head is on top of Chansung's knees. He's grinning, eyes bright and beautiful and Chansung feels the air get caught in his lungs.

"You," Chansung says before he can stop himself, but honestly speaking, it's not like stopping himself would make the statement any less true. Or his thoughts any less real. "Us," he adds on, since he's already sharing.

Junho traces indistinct patterns on the top of Chansung's pant clad thigh, and Chansung recognizes a few curls and lines but doesn't know how to put them together into words he can understand. It tickles Chansung but he lets Junho continue anyways.

"Of how we're together and everything is great," Chansung finishes.

Junho grins up at him, "Perfect, you mean. Thanks to me, 'cause I'm a whole new definition of perfect, y'know. I should be in the dictionary, man."

Chansung bends his knee just barely to shove Junho's head off his lap. "Always killing the mood, aren't you. Jesus."

Junho regards him with an eyeroll. "Do you even know who Jesus is," he says flatly.

"Fuck you," Chansung purses his lips, trying not to laugh.

"I believe you did so last night. But, okay, if you wanna do it again," Junho holds his hands up in mock surrender, "please have your way. I won't put up a fight."

Chansung saves the I hate you and instead pulls on Junho's ear until the latter calls truce with laughter bubbling up his chest.

It's moments like this that Chansung cherishes the most, when they're both lazing around without any care in the world on a Saturday morning, and are finally able to be who they truly are with each other, no cameras, no microphones, just them. Moments like this when Chansung thinks of how much things have changed ever since 2008 and how much has stayed the same – Junho's warmth, Junho's touch, Junho's taste – and how much Chansung hasn't paid attention to because he's been too caught up on them.

"You're spacing out again," Junho says casually, with a smile that holds much more than Chansung can take in at once.

"I am not," Chansung retorts heatedly, and picks up some popcorn from the bowl near the pillows ("Are we really having popcorn for breakfast? Chansung, if Wooyoung finds out—", "He can find out, I don't care, now where's that Fast and Furious DVD?") that's now long forgotten, to throw it at Junho's cocky face.

They start an "am not, am too" fight and before they know it, they're done with the popcorn bowl and moved onto wrestling each other for the remote, just to see who smacks who with it first. At some point Junho ends up on top him (it triggers nice memories from the night before, and not only into Chansung's mind judging by how there's something poking Chansung's hip that hadn't been there five minutes ago) and as Chansung looks up and meets Junho's smile with one of his own, something seems to unfold within him, from the deepest corner of his chest, and it makes him feel lightheaded, but in a good way.

"I love you," Junho says softly, his elbows resting at either side of Chansung's head as he leans close, closer and closer until Chansung can count Junho's eyelashes without trying too hard.

Chansung wishes he could wake up like this every Saturday morning —no, scratch that, every morning for the rest of his life, for the rest of eternity and what's left of it, with Junho next to him, or on top of him, he doesn't care as long as Junho's there, his to touch and have and hold.

"I love you, too," Chansung says, or he thinks he does, it doesn't really make a difference because Junho knows anyways, and lets Junho close the distance between them, pressing their lips together.

It's a chaste touch, with adequate amounts of soft nibbling and tongue grazing and Chansung can't really help the grin that spreads his lips widely in the middle of their kiss.

Junho pulls away, trying to hide a smile with a lazy frown. "What."

Chansung can't help but burst into a fit of laughter that lasts long enough until Junho smacks his chest repeatedly, demanding to know what the hell is wrong with Chansung and why is he laughing like a crazy person, God, this is a conspiracy.

"Your English sucks, man," Chansung says at last, breath quicken from all the laughing. "You suck."

Junho rolls his eyes. "You didn't seem to complain about that fact last night," he says, grinning teasingly, and pulls away completely to sit on top of Chansung's hips carefully. "In fact," he adds, rocking back and forth slightly and making Chansung groan softly, "it looked like you didn't want me to stop at all."

"You couldn't have even if you'd wanted to," Chansung grins back, "I'm just that irresistible."

Junho snorts. "That you are."

Chansung laughs a little, until his lips are covered by Junho's in a soft yet demanding kiss that has him threading his fingers in Junho's hair, pulling softly to tilt his head the way Chansung wants him, just so he can feel deeper into Junho's mouth.

They pull away soon after, with air being a necessity and all that. Junho presses their foreheads together, eyes still closed where Chansung has his half opened. They breathe silently for a little while until Junho moves on top of Chansung, and then they fit perfectly, from knees to chest.

Chansung has never been much of a romantic (that's Nichkhun's job in the great design of the Universe), but he can't help but think that this, the way Junho and him are pressed together, feels too natural, too right, too perfect. He knows better than to say it out loud, or else he might never outlive Junho's mockery (and Junho is the hopeless one out of them both already), so he just keeps it to himself, saves it in the deepest corner of his mind for another time, perhaps, while focusing on locking his arms around Junho's waist.

A smile tugs on the corner of Junho's lips, and Chansung kisses it softly. "We should have more mornings like this," he says quietly, nuzzling Junho's nose with his own.

Junho hums agreeably, pecking Chansung quickly, and then pulling away to look down at him. "We'd never leave the bed."

Chansung grins. "And your point is...?"

Junho laughs blithely, and Chansung saves that sound – so carefree and Junho around every corner – next to the thought of them being perfect together. He rolls his eyes as Junho says something that sounds like, "now you've been spending way too much time with Nichkhun," and then flips them over so he's on top, Junho laughing breathlessly beneath him.

"Shut up," Chansung bites, and then shuts Junho up with a long, deep kiss.

And Chansung wouldn't really mind having more mornings like this, seriously, not when it means they get to move like this, slow and sort of like in perfect harmony, without the fear of being interrupted (or worse, yet, caught) by anyone.

Chansung has a hand around Junho's cock, jerking him off slowly, bordering on lazy, following the same rhythm of his own hips pushing deep into Junho's. It's too much to bear — Junho's face, his parted lips, his half lidded eyes, his pliant body swallowing Chansung's cock up to the hilt — and yet not enough at the same time, and it makes Chansung feel lightheaded again, dizzy and weak but just so, so alive.

Junho comes first, eyes shut tight and head thrown back, and Chansung nuzzles the base of his throat, where he feels his own name mixed with a moan dying slowly, and then he's coming too, perhaps too fast, but he doesn't care, because Junho rolls his hips into his, riding him through his orgasm completely and it's like Chansung's brain turns into a puddle of goo and he can't think right anymore.

"Yeah," Junho breathes in deeply, his smile white as a Christmas morning. Chansung's always been fond of Christmas. "I wouldn't mind waking up to a morning like this."

Their chests are heaving and Chansung's pretty close to bursting and he's not sure if the heartbeat he feels pounding around his ribcage is Junho's or his, but it's not like it's important to know, either. So maybe it's not really Junho the only hopeless one here, maybe Chansung is too but at different levels, or wavelengths or whatever. Or maybe Chansung is just completely and utterly hopeless when it comes Junho.

"Good," he says, kissing Junho's forehead. "That's really good."